


Fragile

by Shinigamishi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Parenthood, probably AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigamishi/pseuds/Shinigamishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For people with exoskeleton shells, the idea that a human's skin is so fragile is rather alarming. It's hard to raise a child to someday fight a war, when it seems like anything could break her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile

The Old House was always a source of wonder for the inhabitants of the colony. Within it was strange equipment that none knew how to work. There were strange windows that sometimes showed images nobody could understand, and then there were The Instructions.

When you first arrived on the colony, and gave your initials and title, a hush fell on a few of your fellow carapaces. The rest covered their silence quickly enough, some welcoming you and some keeping their distance and you soon forgot all about the silence.

That night, as you settled down into your new home, a knock came at the door. A former Prospitian stood there, shrouded in grey. She held a book in her arms, old and worn, and asked in a soft voice if she could come inside, throwing a nervous look over her shoulder.

You obliged, opening the door wider to admit her. When the door was safely shut, she handed you the book.

"This has been passed down for some time. It bears your name," she said, eyes serious.

"What is it?" you asked, staring down at the worn book.

"It is... something like a prophecy. The first page is a letter. To you."

You were not entirely sure how that can be. But you were familiar enough with prophecy and the strange way time works that you do not question it. You opened the book to the first page.

_'To the Warweary Villein,_

_My name is Rose Lalonde, and at this point in time I am dead. The other Carapaces can fill you in on my exploits and why I died, but it is not overly important._

_As a former Dersite, you are familiar with the Rogue. You might not know it, but they come from Earth. Every hero has two selves, one on Prospit or Derse, and one on their home planet._

_Within a few years from reading this, the Rogue will arrive on Earth. She will be an infant, and she will need someone to take care of her until she is old enough to do it on her own._

_It will be dangerous, but I know can do it. If not for the mere sake of protecting an innocent child, I know you detest the Empress. I know that it seemed when you left Derse that she had won, but she has not._

_The heroes can defeat her. But for that, they will need the Rogue._

_The rest of this book is instructions on how to care for a human child. Everything you need is inside my house._

_Please, take good care of her in my stead._

_Her name is Roxy Lalonde.'_

You reread the letter twice over before looking up at the prospitian. "Who is this?"

"She was a rebel," the carapace replied. "A brave, brave woman... She died trying to stop the Empress."

That earned your admiration. You knew of many who died trying to stop the Condescension. Many friends. All lost to that strange alien. You had always felt a debt to those who lost their lives in an attempt to rid the worlds of oppression.

So you decided to raise the child, when she came.

And come she does, born by a falling star. You see the meteor start to fall, and you run to the docks. Authority Regulator is already there, undoing the ties, and you climb in behind him and start to row as fast as the two of you can manage.

The meteor lands nearby with a splash, nearly capsizing your boat, but you manage to keep it steady enough. For a moment you are scared that the baby has sunk with the falling star, but you see her when the waves have cleared, somehow alright and floating in the water as if held aloft by an unseen force. You lean over and scoop the squirming child from the water, holding her in your arms. Her soft, translucent pink skin depresses where you hold her even with the lightest of touches and you're frightened that you might hurt her. She does not seem to be in pain, though, and after a moment you relax. The baby lets out a coo, strangely calm for one who has just fallen from the heavens. Her small hands reach up for you, pink eyes bright, and you smile gently down at her.

She is so small now, and humans are so strange, but you can recognize in the baby the young woman she will one day become. The young woman who may someday save you all.

___________________________________________

You name her Roxy according to the rebel woman's wishes, and raise her inside the Old House with all its equipment and wonders. The Instructions help walk you through the first years of her life, how to mix the baby formula and how to feed her. She grows quick and strong.

She is a sweet child, eager to learn and eager to help with everything she can. You think she may be bright, though you have no standard for children. Carapaces do not have children, though the Empress is working on that.

Still, you are proud of the little girl. You are proud of the way she always puts others ahead, of the way she freely gives her help without asking for anything in return. You are proud of the short time it takes her to learn to hide when the drones come, and how little time it takes her to learn to read and write. You are proud of the way she learns the sciences and the way she absorbs the difficult books the rebel woman wrote. You are proud of the way she learns to shoot from Authority Regulator in no time at all, and the way she sometimes helps Parcel Mistress with the mail. 

Sometimes you remember Derse, and remember the sleepwalking princess in the tower. It is strange to think that as she grew up, it was you who was raising her.

And you start to worry, because you remember Derse very well sometimes and you remember the danger. The danger she has been in before and will be again as she grows up. You are scared for the little girl you have raised, who would give up her food freely to any who needs it when things are rough. Who as she gets older sometimes spends hours at a time trying to bring food from the past. Who treats even those who think she is a danger and treat her with disdain with kindness because she understands why they are afraid of her.

You realize you are terrified for her the first time she gets a bad scrape. When she’s about five years old and trips while outside, and even that small fall scrapes off skin and makes her bleed. She cries at little, but is startled into silence by your panic. You hadn’t even thought that such a thing as the ground could hurt someone from a small fall.

Parcel Mistress covers for you, and bandages the scrape. It stops bleeding soon, and you bring her back to the house. You do not even notice until Parcel Mistress comments that you’ve been shaking the entire time. The last dregs of panic have not yet faded away.

“She will be fine,” Parcel Mistress assures you, but you can see in her eyes that she worries too.

After that, you seem to notice every minor abrasion. Every cut and scrape and bruise that shows up so vividly on peach skin. Once, you even see blood drawn by turning the page of a book. By paper.

You do not know what to do. Humans are so fragile, their skin so delicate that even paper will pierce it. And you know that someday, inevitably, she will have to fight. Someday the drones will come and they will find her, and it will be a fight of metal against soft human flesh and you are afraid for the little girl you have raised, who has made you so proud.

Someday she will fight the Empress and the demon she serves. Someday it will not be scrapes and papercuts but real wounds. Wounds like those which took the lives of the carapaces who fought for the fate of the battlefield. Wounds which have slain even those with armoured skin.

And you worry.

You worry about the child who must one day grow up. You worry about the day she will leave for the world you once left behind, a world where you no longer know the outcome.

A world where she may die.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to accept any headcanon besides that Roxy was primarily raised by Wayward Vagabond, Peregrine Mendicant, and Aimless Renegade. Partially inspired by [this drawing by Fraymotif.](http://fraymotif.tumblr.com/post/21665226392/more-doodles-of-babby-roxy-and-her-caraparents)


End file.
